#the5

It should be known that while Teddy was often the centerpiece of discussion at the superficial, and quite petulant, table that is Rodrick Hall, she managed to create an enigma of sorts around her being by simply defying rumors in their wake. Last fall, word fluttered around that she had met a rich fellow over the holiday break and made him fall madly in love with her. In their own resentment, the girls in her dormitory would make snide comments, gold digger this, bloodsucker that, in a way it was plainly obvious Teddy was meant to hear, though if they were trying to strike a nerve, the effort was never fruitful. Teddy turned a deaf ear to all rumors sloppily thrown at her and walked on without even a pity glance the way they came from. The first day back from break, she exchanged her usual high-waisted skirt and blouse combo for ratty jeans and a bleached band tee, ripped at the shoulders. The only evidence of her extravagant holiday was the slim Tiffany watch delicately wrapped round her left wrist.

The days went on, warm air turning crisp, leaves falling like rain to the ground and crunching under Finnegan’s soles as he took his morning walk around the lake west of campus. Since coming to Tutling College, he’d adopted quite a modus operandi in starting the day; coffee, book, lake. Coffee for the stimulation, a book for sense of productivity, and while the grounds of the university were striking in the New England autumn and its age old buildings held the grandeur of a century’s prestige, the lake had a certain serenity about it that could not be found within the colonnaded walls of campus. Finnegan did his best thinking outdoors, and while normally this sacred time before classes was reserved for mulling over required readings or discussions, he could not keep his mind from wandering to the conversation he’d overheard last night in the common room.

The whisperings of three scrawny first years under any other circumstances wouldn’t attract attention from him, but when his ear caught the word, Mable, off one of their tongues, he instantly paused in his footsteps, plastering himself to the wall to have a listen. They spoke in hushed tones with hands around their lips, muffling themselves in such a way that Finnegan made out bits and pieces of their conversation only when it would escalate in what was either agitation or heightened curiosity, he could not infer. … quite a ways out… eerie sort of place… first time in ages…

The second time Finnegan was invited over to Teddy’s flat, he found himself lip-locked with Carvin by 10pm. If he had any level of brain activity at the time, he would have been quite annoyed with the way the night turned. Sober Finnegan had every intention of getting tongue-tied with Teddy that eve. As it was, Present Finnegan was too inebriated to care.

He’d only been to one other gathering with the four, but judging from that experience, he wasn’t surprised he ended up making a fool of himself. This group could drink and never seemed to care what the consequences were to it.

So Finny, Kaiser drawled, Now that you’ve officially been inducted into our secret society, we must know—what type of drunk are you?

Oh, I’m in, am I? Shouldn’t you know that before recruiting me?

Well I would have liked to! But you insisted on staying offensively sober at our last meeting!

Kaiser stressed his words with vibrant facial expressions and hand gestures. He was obviously the thespian drunk of the group.

Come on, now! He continued, You’ve seen us all. Carvin’s sloppy, Teddy turns into a toddler and Arielle’s just even more of a pretentious bastard.

Arielle smacked him upside the head.

It’ll come out anyway, Finny, he said, refilling everyone’s glasses, We’ll make sure of it, so you might as well tell us so we can prepare ourselves.

Finnegan drained his in one gulp, building false confidence in his spirit-altered brain. He figured this was as good a chance as any to carry out his plan.

I’m a flirt, he deadpanned. I’ll make out with anything that moves.

The others choked slightly on their drinks, stunned by his bluntness, but Kaiser just smirked.

Alright then, let’s see it. Carvin, you’re up.

A single window on the third story shone yellow in the night, adding one block of color to the dark exterior of the old Whittfield mansion. A passerby would think nothing of the fact, but anyone who lived in Hawthorne for a period of time would be confused. The Whittfield estate had been abandoned for fifty years after the mysterious disappearance of a Mr. Arthur Whittfield. A curious man, he was; quite mad, some would say. He lived alone with one butler for ten years after inheriting the place. Then one morning, an unfortunate salesman knocked on the door and it gave way to reveal the butler dead in the entryway, throat slit. Ever since, locals abided by an unspoken rule to stay clear of the property.

The mansion was seated on ten acres of land at the far edge of town. No one ever had reason to trek out this far, but Hawthorne was a through-town to Mable, so travellers often passed the grounds. It looked menacing in the dark. The walls ran at least fifteen meters high, glaring down at the courtyard below. Ivy rose up and concealed the house and its secrets in its grasp, the foliage making it nearly invisible. Two windows to each story mirrored either side of the columns framing the entrance. The third story left was the one breaking its facade.

Listen here, you sick bastards!

Kaiser sprung to his feet, clinking his glass in a feeble attempt at commanding attention from the raucous group. His wine threatened to spill over and his body sloshed with it. He managed to right himself and jumped atop the coffee table they pow-wowed around.

Kaiser, you fuck, you’ll break my table! Arielle scolded, swatting at his feet.

Ari, you picked that ratty piece off the curb outside Blaxton, he’d be doing you a favor if he destroyed it, Carvin countered.

Oh, yes! Teddy turned to her, bright-eyed, We could find you something much nicer.

Arielle whined, But this is the first thing I got for this place, it has a special spot in—

Here, here! I have the floor here! Kaiser grew impatient.

Technically, the table—

Oh, never mind, Finnegan! Now listen, you fucks. I would like, nay, I must, propose a toast.

Even the paintings on the wall rolled their eyes. Kaiser and his toasts. He proposes at least six every night, his way of getting the lot utterly smashed by sundown. It was nearing midnight and this would be tribute number eight since the start of the little get together. Already, they had drunk to the eradication of the mumps, the oldest living conjoined twins in Scotland and Teddy’s newest tattoo (a lightbulb behind her right ear), so who knew where the hell he was headed with this one. To be quite honest, no one ever had a clue with Kaiser, but they’d go along with him, no matter. Never was there a protest to inebriation.

It better be a toast to you getting me a new coffee table, should you destroy this one, Arielle warned.

Dear, sweet, lovely Arielle, you’re drunk and grouchy and I’m drunk and miffed that you’re taking away my spotlight over a failed woodshop project you call furniture! Nevertheless! I will ignore your trivial little outbursts, for what I have to say is of exceptional gravity.

The room was a symphony of scoffs and snorts. Alcohol always turned Kaiser into a pretentious, walking dictionary. If he caught on to their flippancy, it didn’t show. He picked up the bottle at his feet and turned in a circle, filling everyone’s glasses with the generous hand of a true bacchanal and emptying the dregs into his own.

We are but flickering stars in the universe, burning briefly, insignificantly, amongst the cosmos. But not tonight. Tonight, we are immortal. Burn bright, burn brazen, burn boundless. Dum vivimus vivamus!

Dum vivimus vivamus! The room chorused, throwing their heads back and draining their goblets.